


When you touch what's his

by LaughterWrites



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Murder, yanderestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-02 03:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughterWrites/pseuds/LaughterWrites
Summary: Apparently murder is not the best way to start a relationship, but it seems to be working out for Cal.(High school humanstuck AU where Cal kills everyone in his way.)





	1. Chapter 1

 

You really wish real life was like High School Musical. You've never seen high school musical but it sounds a lot more fun than High School Reality. More singing, less anxiety, more positive memes, all the things a growing kid needs. Even if your fucktard of a brother is rich as satan’s devil food cake you're still in public school. Because you have to “Suffer” and all that jazz. No private tutors for Dirk Strider, just hormones and homework. You groan inwardly, scrolling through Roxy’s new blog while Mr.WhatsHisBucket drones on about Trigonometry or some shit. You could teach circles around that dinosaur but does anyone listen to the kid in pointy sunglasses?  
No. Never.  
They just listen to Mr. HugeCuntBasket because he has a “degree” and “Teaching credentials”. Blegh.

The bell is like an angel’s choir.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder you go to meet up with Jake, your best friend. You meant to organize a study group for your Psych final. You then realize how few friends you had in psych. A study group of two still works…  
right?

You walk down to the wooded creek behind the school where you and Jake meet up. Usually you're there before him, he has a tendency to loose track of time, but today he promised he'd be there first. Still, you weren't surprised when Jake was nowhere to be found. You sit by the old evergreen tree and message him.

TT: Yo English.  
TT: You there, man?

No reply, and it looks like he's offline too.

TT: C’mon Jake, did you get your phone taken by miss S again?  
TT: Hiya Miss Serk, my name’s D-Stri.  
TT: Ya know, I’m the kid with rad shades who's way out of English’s league.  
TT: Like, way out of his league. 

Still nothing. You glance around, maybe he came by and you missed him?  
There's no sign of him, the little niche looks the same as always, besides some marks in the dirt where some kids probably brought a cooler in. People always came out here to get drunk or smoke weed over the weekends. You look at the marks in the dirt again. It looks like… someone was being dragged. Ugh, some guy probably passed out. His friends must've had no idea how to carry a person. Your practice with RoLal has made you quite nearly a master with heaving dead weight. You shrug and message Jake again.

 

TT: Listen English, you might be cute but I have to study. Meet me at my place if you decide to show.

 

You stand up and brush yourself off, slinging your backpack over one shoulder. You have things to do, homework to finish, you don't really have time to wait for English.

Less than half a mile away, a boy named Jake is wheezing his last breaths. Someone knocked him out with a blow to the head only a few minutes before you decided to show up. Someone dragged him away, deeper into the woods. They tore open his shirt with carefully gloved hands and felt where his ribs were. In a motion too quick to follow, they took a pen from their pocket and pushed it between two of his ribs, chuckling when his body convulses. They smile for a moment before pulling the pen out. It's followed by a splurt of blood and then another convulsion as the pen is stabbed into his other lung. The killer watches Jake’s body struggle for air. He hopes its excruciating. He hopes that even in his unconscious state, Jake can feel how much pain he deserved. When most of the bleeding has slowed and the boy’s wheezing has halted, the killer takes out another pen. A felt tipped Magic Marker. His weapon of choice had been a ballpoint but this pen wasn't for killing. It was for leaving a message. He takes the edge of Jake’s ruined shirt and wipes some of the blood away from the boy’s stomach. He uncaps his marker, flipping it over to his left hand. In impeccable script he writes across his victim’s stomach, smiling to himself. One hand creates something beautiful, swirling cursive lettering, almost like calligraphy. The other hand just stabbed a kid to death. Once he's finished writing he wrenches open the boy’s jaw, drops the marker inside, and puts Jake’s student ID in his unmoving hand. His hand that will never move again. The killer considers feeling bad for a moment before peeling his gloves off so they go inside out and dropping them in a trash bag brought for the occasion. He then glanced back at the trees that acted as his cover. He strips off the bloodied clothes, dropping them in the bag. He changes into a hoodie and jeans identical to the clothes he just ruined. He leaves his shoes, he'd been careful to keep them out of the splash zone. They were four sizes too big, stuffed with newspaper and the killer’s regular sneaker. Walking in them is weird and running is nearly impossible. If all goes according to plan, which it has so far, he shouldn't have to run. He very carefully begin to walk backwards to where he first knocked Jake out. He doesnt really have to do this, it takes a lot more effort than he'd like to admit. It also makes for fun headlines.

“Corpse found- killer disappears into thin air!”  
“The Ghost At Sburb Highschool”  
“Supernatural killer on the loose??”

No steps leading away, but the head wound and message should hint that this was no suicide. The killer takes almost half an hour to get back to the niche with the old evergreen tree. He scans the path created when he dragged Jake away for any evidence and spots his victim’s phone in a bush. With all the footprints in the niche it doesn't matter if he steps over and grabs the phone, heading right back to walking backwards out of the wooded creek. He walks backwards onto school grounds until he's on the sidewalk leading to the street. He takes off the shoes and shoves them in his backpack, right as the school’s friday clubs, chess and theatre, let out. Masked in the group of his peers, Caliborn calls an Uber. It's not the safest way home, of course. Who even knows who drives those things. Could be a serial killer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He never showed up to your house yesterday. His grandma called you, terrified, begging you to tell her that Jake was still with you. You told her to call Roxy and ask her.   
Less than an hour later she called the police.   
The rest seems like a blur.   
They had helicopters looking almost immediately. His grandma is influential in the tech industry, a missing grandson could be someone asking for ransom. Worse, it could be someone killing to make a point. Someone trying to ruin Gramma Jade’s business.   
The search doesn't last long.   
You, Roxy, Jane and Jake’s Grandmother sit in Jake’s ‘playroom’ that he hasn't used since he was eight. This isn't just to welcome him back, keeping the children of some of the city’s most influential people in the most well guarded house-fortress in your area seems obvious.   
When the police officer walks in, head down, eyes averted, the room is silenced. Nervous jabbering is cut off and all eight nervous eyes stare at the officer. He licks his lips and looks up, apology written across his face. Grandma Harley covers her mouth but a sob escapes. Roxy holds onto Jane as you stare the officer down with the most intense gaze you can muster.   
“What happened to him. Tell me Jake is okay. I swear to fuck tell me Jake is okay.”   
The officer slowly shakes his head.   
“Listen son we’re not sure yet but-”   
“You're not sure? What do you mean you're not sure? I'm not asking for a fucking diagnosis Im telling you that Jake. Is. Okay.”   
Roxy sobs behind you. “D-Dirk, stop”   
You step towards the officer, almost expecting the floor to go up in flames under you.   
“Tell me Jake English is okay, officer.”   
You are barely a foot from the man. You stare him in the eye, your glasses still in your chair. Your too-bright-to-be-hazel eyes burn into the officer’s skull.   
He takes a deep breath. “Listen, Strider, right?”   
You bite back a sneer and nod.   
“Listen Strider, your friend is not going to make it. We called a paramedic when we found him but we have no breathing, no pulse, no nothin’.”   
He pulls a photo from his pocket. It's not Jake. It can't be. It's makeup or something.   
Jake doesn't have a gaping hole in his lung.   
Jake doesn't have what looks like a green glitter gel pen in his chest.   
Jake doesn't have a Magic Marker in his mouth or writing across his stomach. Jake is somewhere else this can't be-   
You feel a tear on your face.  
“Striders don't cry, Dirk. Head up high. Gotta be strong. For everyone else.”   
Grandma Harley gasps and sobs again, breaking down in her armchair. You barely hear it. Your ears are ringing. Each breath feels labored, painful. Everything seems darker as you clutch the paper like a lifeline. Jake is dead. Jake is dead. Jake is dead. Your new mantra doesn't stop, going and going until you think you're almost dizzy from it. You'll never hear his laugh. You'll never hear his voice, see his happy little buck-tooth grin, never wrestle or watch him shoot his dorky little pistol at the shooting range.

The next day is a dark blur. Identifying his corpse, questions, questions, questions. Any idea who could've done this, suspicious figures, anyone else in the woods? You don't know. You do your best to answer, to help find out what happened to Jake.   
It's hard.  
Your head feels like Jello someone took a meat cleaver to. Wiggly chunks of thoughts that won't form together. Nobody wants meat cleaver jello. You spend the next day in your room. You mostly stare at the ceiling. You try to play video games but almost every one has his name on the leaderboard. You can't even look at his name without being sick. You chuck your Player 2 remote at the wall where it hits with a satisfying crack. You smile, then laugh to yourself. You walk over and pick it up, chucking it again. The crack is even bigger as the battery cartridge snaps off. You giggle a little to yourself, grabbing the remote and throwing it as hard as you possibly can. The thunk of it denting your wall is almost as great as it snapping right along the seam of the plastic. You laugh hysterically. You don't even know what's funny. All you know is that Jake is gone, and everything in your room reminds you of him. Everything reminds you of him. You sit down on your bed and scratch at your arms.   
Your name is Dirk Strider and your best friend is dead.   
But this isn't a video game.   
He won't respawn.

In another house, on the same side of town but a street that you've never walked down, someone has your best friend’s phone. Cal smiles at his prize. He had the driver of his Uber head to the other side of town as he disabled the tracking feature. He had the driver drop him at his friend’s apartment building where they completely removed the part of the phone that could be tracked. This also caused it to not be able to get a cellular data connection but his friend hooked it up to work with wifi. He messes with the tracker so it'll turn back on in five hours, and Cal headed down to the airport. Once he got there he chose a scapegoat in the main lobby, a woman waiting for her bag by a baggage claim. After a few minutes of eavesdropping, Cal learned that the girl was about to catch another flight out of Skaia headed to Houston after she got some coffee with an old friend. He almost feels bad about pretending to bump into her and adhering the tracker to her laptop, where security probably wouldn't notice it. If they did, it wasn't Cal’s problem. He takes a lap, goes to the Starbucks in the lobby and fakes a call under the security camera. If he ends up getting questioned he can say he was coming to pick up his sister after her trip to Florida but he had never managed to get the correct date. It should work, one of Callie’s volunteer projects took her down to florida for the next month and a half. Cal leaves the airport as swiftly has he can without looking too out of place. Back at home, he smiles at the phone. Hopefully it's a prize well won.

  
You are shaken from your hazy, anger-crying and stuff-breaking fit by a ping from your phone.   
That's the Pesterchum ping   
There's only three people in my chumroll, Jane, Roxy and…   
Jane and Roxy.   
They wouldn't message…   
You walk over carefully, handling the phone as if the slightest bump could shatter it. You force yourself to check the message.

GT: Oh no. Dirk. I've killed him. Would you like to play a game?

The message almost forces tears from you but you steel yourself to be angry not sad.

TT: The fuck kind of sick joke is this?

GT: It's not a “Joke”, Dirk.

GT: Ugh this colour is horrid. Green and orange. A horrible combination. Luckily I've taken care of green.

TT: You disgust me.

\-  golgothasTerror [GT]  has edited his chat settings!-

uu: WHY? JAKE WAS ANNOYING.

TT: What's up with the caps, psycho?

uu: ITS JUST HOW I TYPE, DIRK. DONT BE TYPING RACIST.

TT: Says the murderer.

uu: IM HuRT, DIRK. WHY WOuLD YOu HuRT ME LIKE THIS?

TT: What the fuck why are your Us tiny?

uu: BECAuSE MY SISTER IS A FuCKING WHORE. AND STOLE ALL THE BIG uS.

TT: I'll pretend that made sense.

TT: Now who is this. I'll have you know this joke isn't funny. If I turn this into the cops they'd count this as a confession and you'd be in jail.

TT: All because you had to be a douche to the rich kid.

uu: FIRST, THIS PHONE IS NOW uNTRACKABLE THANKS TO AN ACCOMPLICE. SECOND, YOu WONT TuRN ME IN.

TT: What makes you say that?

uu: ON ONE HAND. IF YOu THINK IM A PRANKSTER. YOu WONT DO ANYTHING OuT OF FEAR OF INCRIMINATING A KID.

TT: Okay…

uu: ON THE OTHER HAND. IF YOU THINK IM JAKE’S KILLER. YOu’LL WANNA FIND ME YOuRSELF.

TT: Ah, you got me there.

TT: Prove you killed him.

uu: SuRE.

uu: MY MESSAGE TO YOU, DIRK.

uu: WRITTEN ON HIS STOMACH.

uu: DO YOu REMEMBER IT?

TT: Yes.

uu: WHAT DID IT SAY, DIRK?

TT: Scrawled across the corpse of the one person I care about was the sentence “This is what happens when you touch what's mine”

TT: Except the ‘what's’ had no apostrophe which was a stupid mistake on your part.

uu: FIRST, FuCK YOu IT WAS A TYPO.

uu: SECOND, WOuLD YOu LIKE TO KNOW WHAT’S MINE, DIRK?

TT: Not particularly.

uu: ITS YOu, DIRK.

uu: AND ILL MAKE SuRE THIS WHOLE TOWN KNOWS IT.

You block him and throw your phone at the same place as the controller.   
You hear a crack and hope it's destroyed.   
That creep can't get to you.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos goal: 30   
> Comments goal: 4 
> 
> When we reach one of these goals I'll post chapter 3, unless I decide to release early 
> 
> Comments can be positive or negative, anything's appreciated


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